


let's hear that string part again

by meowcosm



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Ambiguous Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), F/F, Falling In Love, Intimacy, Introspection, Nipple Play, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Tension, Swordfighting, Swordplay, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:07:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23696722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meowcosm/pseuds/meowcosm
Summary: Preparing for the violence of war can be a brutal thing. It's tough, messy and fraught with emotion. Then again, so is life.Just like life, it helps if you can connect with other people. Maybe you'll find out some more about yourself, too.(or, you may as well have a bi awakening now, and fuck the handsomest knight of seiros in the process)
Relationships: Manuela Casagranda/Catherine
Comments: 12
Kudos: 34





	let's hear that string part again

**Author's Note:**

> if u are here to indulge this crackship: thank you

“Do you think I’m getting old, Catherine?” 

The question had, at the time, come as a surprise. Church-regimented training sessions were hardly considered the appropriate venue for questions of an emotional nature, geared much more towards the unsilent clash of steel against steel; bow against bullseye; healing magic against rendered flesh. And though Catherine hardly considered Manuela a stranger, it remained  _ strange _ \- for lack of better expression- to be addressed with such frankness by her, particularly with such suddenness. Particularly when it was so rare for other women to address her with frankness regarding their personal issues- a rough-edged knight, Catherine had long considered herself to lack privy in the intimate matters of the more femme amongst her compatriots. 

And it was for that reason that Catherine stuttered, quite frankly spluttered, through her response, wringing her hands as if pulling the water from some tattered cleaning-cloth. Let the air hang pregnant with silence, containing nowt in regards to reassurance or comfort. Indeed, it hardly took the social graces of the nobility to read the situation for its awkwardness, for the ache in her hesitation, and Catherine almost writhed under the sinking of Manuela’s gaze. 

“Hah. I don’t suppose there’s any point in asking, is there?” 

For a lack of an answer, Catherine turned her head towards the weapon-racks, and feigned to the best of her ability to be distracted, or to not have heard. Began to heave Thunderbrand by its handle towards the side of the room, an impression of laying down her weapon in preparation for axe-training.

At least, that had been the plan, until Manuela placed her hand firmly, albeit with a learned gentleness, on Catherine’s shoulder, sending a reflexive jolt through her body. 

“Humour me, if only for a second. Can I tell you what I’ve dealt with over the past few days?” 

Without turning to face Manuela, Catherine spluttered out something incomprehensible, meant to be something akin to a yes. As if without care for the answer, Manuela continued. 

“Knights. Catherine, if I didn’t know you- and perhaps Alois, too- then I’d assume you were a no-good lot, through and through.” 

The metal plating on Catherine’s armour suddenly felt quite constraining. She resolved, internally, to remove it as soon as the training grounds were vacant of them both. 

“Two have taken me up on my propositions, Catherine, and neither have returned the interest. Not after- well- you know.” Manuela continued, voice full of resigned, almost light-hearted anguish. “I hardly need to be coy anymore, not without the students around. And yet- still- it always troubles me.” 

Catherine’s gloves began to feel much the same way, as did her fingers. Pinned, in some imperceptible fashion, by Manuela’s gaze lingering on her back. In an attempt to relieve the strange pressure, Catherine turned herself back round to face Manuela, hurried and uneven, armour shaking around her- nearly cuffing Manuela’s thighs- as she did. Hoped internally that she had at least some composure to display, regardless of the situation leaving her quite flustered, akin to being adrift on some knee-deep sea.

“Ah! There you are.” To Catherine’s comfort, Manuela looked hardly perturbed by her sudden turn towards, and seemed to be disregarding whatever her face betrayed entirely. “I was- well, I was wondering.” 

Catherine wondered, too- wondered quite a bit about the current situation. Still, she kept her mouth shut. 

“As a young woman- a knightly young woman, Catherine- is my frustration with the men amongst your cabal unique?”

“I’m not sure what you’re implying.” That was perhaps first amongst the things that Catherine wondered about the entire encounter- what Manuela was getting at. Still, a quizzical smile spread across Manuela’s face. 

“You must have dated  _ knights _ ,” she spoke, emphasizing the word knights as it passed through her lips, enough for it to bear the weighty status that it reflected. “Do they behave like this as a matter of habit?” 

Catherine scolded herself internally for wondering. Not only was this a profoundly strange encounter, it was hardly one which Catherine could offer any worthwhile advice in its course- still, they’d began, and if for no other reason than her growing fondness for Manuela and the trickiness of her swordplay, it was an encounter which Catherine felt greatly hesitant to leave hanging. 

Still, another silence began, and Catherine realized that she would have to conjure some answer quite rapidly. 

“I don’t know that.” Another scold was fired inside Catherine’s head. Amongst the many poor answers which could be given, Catherine suspected that this was amongst the poorest. Not only for its unhelpfulness, but for what it threatened to reveal. “Uh, you might be better off asking a guy knight about something like that.”

With the way Manuela came to rest her head in the cup of her hand upon hearing that, resting her elbow on the other, Catherine began to suspect that her clarification had hardly improved anything of her original statement. 

“Do you really think I could do that, Catherine?”

“I don’t see why not.” When it came to sincere questions, Catherine considered it at least proper to respond with reciprocal sincerity. “You mentioned Alois. Could ask him, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.” 

“He’s a family man, Catherine.” Manuela interjected. “They’re a different breed.” 

  
That struck Catherine as a rather odd statement- a man was not born married, nor born a father- but in the confusion, it seemed to drift quite easily from her mind. 

“And if I was to take it elsewhere, the point would be moot. You have to play your best hand first in matters of love, and I doubt that my prior troubles with men are desirable bargaining chips.”

“You wouldn’t have to date whoever you asked.” 

An aching, tepid sigh passed Manuela’s lips. “It’d go around the barracks. It always does.” 

That, at least, struck Catherine as true. Though she reviled at the idea of partaking in idle gossip, it had its way of finding itself in her vicinity, often as part of the provocation of some rather roguish knight. 

“So. Catherine, have the knights in your association been courteous towards you?” 

“Uh.” Another pause began, shaped by Catherine’s hesitation. As if two rocks hovered before her, with the knowledge that the removal of one would prompt the sinking of the other, Catherine weighed up two potentials; to offer an entire truth, or to offer what was likely the most comforting statement. 

A wistful, gentle gaze from Manuela seemed to ghost over her face, as vacant and resigned as her sigh. Catherine felt her armour get heavier once more, and reached on instinct for the nearest rock, clung on to its stinging surface. 

“I haven’t been with the other knights.” 

“Oh.” Manuela’s eyes jolted upwards from where they rested, lax in their presumed ability to read Catherine. From the accompanying twitch of her lips, quelled almost as soon as it began, Catherine suspected that she had questions which, for the moment, would remain unasked. Something along the lines of  _ why _ , or  _ how _ , or  _ is it really that bad? _

With her gaze still lingering on Manuela’s lips, the way their sweet movements were in time with her words, Catherine realized that Manuela had continued to speak quite belatedly. 

“...even with that considered,” (Catherine hoped very much that she knew what that was, or at least could be) “you must know how men approach women like you.” 

And if Catherine were not already in some tumultuous social debt, it would have felt rather tempting to reply with something like  _ with disinterest _ , or  _ not at all _ . 

“Men don’t find me very approachable with Thunderbrand in hand.” 

“And with your weapon hand empty, Catherine?” 

If the context was different, Catherine could very much imagine that line as something akin to go on, tell me everything. Still, she hesitated. 

“Consider me married to Thunderbrand. When people see me with it, it’s like a wedding ring. Even if I don’t have the blade, it’s always attached to me.” 

At that, Manuela let out a heavy chuckle. “Don’t remind me of wedding rings, Catherine.” A quick tap of Manuela’s long nails to her lips signalled a moment of consideration. “But. I do understand what you’re getting at, Catherine. I suppose I’m hardly that intimidated by Thunderbrand, you see.” 

“Really? People say all sorts of things about it.”

The chuckle repeated itself, bursting forth from somewhere even deeper in Manuela’s lungs that time. Catherine, in an unhesitant part of herself, contemplated how pleasant it was to hear, all of its creaking refinement carried around with it. “With any weapon, I’m more frightened of tending the injuries it might inflict. For that, Catherine, I’m rather reassured that you- and your sword- are firmly planted on our side.” 

A hot breath, expelled at the end of Manuela’s speech, tickled Catherine’s neck. Catherine, in turn, tried her best not to dwell on it. 

“Hey, I’m glad you’re here as well. Thunderbrand can dish out the punishment, but it can’t help me take it. That’s what healers are for. That,” and Catherine felt a strange surge of warmth through her spine as she continued, “and your swordplay is improving considerably.” 

“How kind of you, Catherine.” A trickle of sweetness emerged in Manuela’s tone, one which Catherine found, all of a sudden, quite charming. “I was hesitant to take up such an unconventional class, but to be a Trickster- well, it’s nice to think I still have something new up my sleeves.”

“It fits you well.” Certainly, Catherine had never seen any evidence to the contrary- her comrade was an experienced physician, and had taken to sword-fighting with a vengeance since the incident with the Death Knight years back. “And you might be the only person I know who could pull off that outfit.” 

“My, Catherine.” The edge of sweetness in Manuela’s voice deepened, softened, as if it were caramelizing. “It’s hard to believe nobody’s been interested in a charmer like you.” 

With a jolt, almost enough to shake her physically, Catherine was reminded of the prior path of their conversation. 

“Well, there’s Thunderbrand. That, and... “ 

“And?” 

Only when Manuela repeated the idle path of her mouth did it occur to Catherine what she had spoken out loud. 

“It’s nothing. Really.” It certainly was something, just something that Catherine was hesitant to surrender. 

“I won’t have you tell me it for my own benefit, if it reassures you.” Now, the edge of Manuela’s voice was soft, ghosting in its impact, and another part of why she was so suited for the role of physician became apparent to Catherine. 

It was inviting- much too inviting- to surrender any heart-held secret to her. 

“Manuela. Promise you’ll keep quiet about this, okay?” 

“Absolutely, Catherine.” Her name sounded like an oath in her mouth, more than any other utterance could, as full of intrigue as it was reassurance. 

“I haven’t been with a man before. Even outside of the bedroom.” 

“That’s quite understandable.” Now, Manuela seemed to be adopting a rather professional tone with her. “It’s more common for women to have had no experience, even with the purely chaste, than you might think.” 

“Yeah.” Catherine took a considered pause, and followed it with an exhalation. 

_ I’m really doing this, huh?  _

“It’s- a little more complicated than that, though.”

“Oh?” 

Intrigue, now. Catherine found a great deal of the situation strange, but the renewed attention she was paying to Manuela’s voice was amongst its most interesting offerings. 

“I have been in relationships. Not with men, though.”

Searching behind Manuela’s eyes, Catherine could find the first indications of something along the line of but _ if not, then with who _ bubbling up inside, only for them to be quelled quite rapidly, and for Manuela to regain her professional, affectionate detachment. 

“Ah. I’ve seen a lot of that, too. Not- not as a participant, though, that’s- in a medical context.” 

Catherine wondered, idly, how she could be losing more sweat then than during their training session. 

“Yeah. It’s, uh- it’s never gone far, though. I haven’t met someone who really got my line of work, if I’m honest.” Even as Catherine spoke the words, she registered them as half-truths, obscuring in some part her reluctance to approach others. Not with everything that had happened before still trailing her around. 

“I understand. You might be onto something, come to think of it,” and in that moment, Catherine registered again the comfort of Manuela addressing her as a compatriot, “as both men, and sex with them, can be more trouble than it’s worth.” Almost immediately after that, Manuela nervously shifted her gaze around the otherwise-emptied training grounds, save for the space that Catherine occupied ( _ which was very close, had it always been that close? _ ), only returning it when the entire perimeter had been assessed. Catherine, on a guard’s instinct, followed the same path with her eyes, came to return them to the same place. 

  
“Sorry,” Manuela offered, “I’m still a little twitchy about using my language around Garreg Mach. I haven’t been here since the students left, and, well- a little part of me still thinks it’s a school.” 

Another pregnant pause emerged between them, formed from the lingering sadness in Manuela’s words. 

“I still think I have good impressions to make. But if I let that go, I’d probably make even more of a mess of myself.” 

Catherine knew that she had an experience of the training grounds that ran deeper, and much more intimate, than was otherwise common. During her time at Garreg Mach, prior to Manuela’s arrival, it had been her solace- later, restricted to Garreg Mach, it had returned to such a position in her life. She had been there during the empty silence of the night, the violence of storms raging outside, the new-bud blooming of Spring mornings. It felt natural to her when it was empty, as much as it did when it was full.

Still, she couldn’t pretend that Manuela should feel the same. Manuela’s home was in a classroom, or in a theatre, somewhere that didn’t insist on carving her into lonely, longing shapes. 

For a brief second, Catherine caught herself wanting to give that to Manuela. Who she knew only in a limited context, who was much different from her. In the arousal of that instinct, another part of Manuela became clear to her: how she captivated, in her meandering sadness and her relishing cheer, an unwitting audience. 

“Hey.” Catherine wanted to offer something like life will get back to normal soon, but upon finding that wanting for truth, settled on something she could try to guarantee herself. “You’ll be okay. Whatever’s at the end of this, I’ll make sure you get to see it.” 

“Thank you, Catherine. I suppose this means you won’t go easy on me, hm?” 

Wrenching her eyes together for a brief second, Catherine took to dispel any assumption of other meaning inside her. 

“Yeah. We’ll train again, soon.”

-

Soon, Catherine found, was sooner than she had intended soon to be.  _ Soon _ was apparently the evening two days subsequent to the last great battle they’d endured, itself only two days away from their first sparring match. It had been another win for their advancing army, a loss for their alcohol stockpiles, and a rather turbulent time for anyone capable of providing medical care within the walls of Garreg Mach. 

With all of that considered, it surprised Catherine rather greatly to find Manuela, sober and Trickster-costume clad, evidently waiting in the entrance to the training grounds. And though it hardly made sense for her to wait for anyone else there, it was hard for her to shake the secondary feeling of surprise- that Manuela was waiting for  _ her _ , a fact easy to intuit from the way her eyes turned to fix so carefully on her when she arrived. 

“Catherine.” The name, coming from Manuela’s mouth, was somewhere between an address and a statement of fact. 

She was here, and here they were. 

“It’s good to see you, Manuela.” 

“Likewise.” Goading a little rushing wisp into the stillness of the air, Manuela withdrew a long rapier from her belt, swift enough that Catherine could barely prepare for it. “I had guessed you might be here tonight.”

“You probably could have guessed that any night, and you’d still be right.” The statement was laced with a self-aware defeatism, a surrender to Catherine’s need to find a predictable solace; still, it did not prompt Manuela to move, only to chuckle under her breath. 

“Tonight is the first night I’ve been away from battle prep. Or battle cleanup.” 

The imposing shadow of the training grounds cloaked Manuela, and it occurred to Catherine that these were perhaps the friendliest words ever spoken to her by a veiled figure with a blade. 

“Has it been taken care of, then?” 

“Hardly,” Manuela groaned, “but it never is truly finished, is it? I’ve been released for the night, regardless, so I’m here for a little indulgence. If you’ll allow me, of course.”

Something akin to a flame alighted itself in Catherine’s mind, albeit one which she quashed rapidly, fingers stinging as they pressed against the tip. 

“You’re looking to train?” 

Even with much of Manuela’s body cast solely in dark lines, Catherine could make out her decisive nod. Could make out how the cloak of the night accentuated many of the pleasant elements of her body, too. 

“You’re an interesting type, considering training with Thunderbrand Catherine an indulgence. But if you’d like to meet my blade-” and Catherine imitated the pull of a sword from its holster- “then you shall have your wish fulfilled, one known as “Manuela Casagranda.”

“Hah. You’ve got a real energy about you, you know?” 

“I could say the same about you.” 

It hardly took very long for Catherine to approach the entrance of the training grounds, to draw even closer to Manuela; still, she hesitated near the end, an arm’s breadth away from Manuela. At the closer distance, she was able to pick out the finer elements of the costume Manuela had donned, albeit reluctantly, for the purpose of waging war, and it became, too, much harder to put the desire to remove them out of her mind. 

“You needn’t keep your distance, Catherine.” With a gentle, dancer-like practice, Manuela held out her arm. Allowed Catherine to take note of it, how the paint on her nails had chipped and decayed since its last application. How, contrary to guidelines, she wasn’t wearing the gloves that would otherwise conceal her hands.

“No gloves. Manuela.” 

“I’m not afraid of putting my hands to use, Catherine. What is life without a few callouses, hm?” 

Instinctively, Catherine ran her own forefingers over the dry, aching patches on her own palms. Back in her younger days, she’d considered them trophies of victory, evidence of her determination. 

That thought, too, opened up a yawning chasm of the past in front of her. A familiar place, where Catherine had come many times to bury herself in her own shallow grave. On the other side of it was Manuela, her outstretched hand, her everything. Hanging over the darkness, endearing itself to her. 

_ A harder choice than it should be _ , Catherine thought. Still; in the moment where the trace scent of herbal medicine on Manuela’s fingertips hit Catherine’s senses, there was no longer any choice, no longer anything to worry for. 

Catherine took her hand- hesitant, but still firm, an awkward mingling of all the different traditions learnt throughout her life. In turn, Manuela sunk hers down, drawing away to the point where only their fingertips touched. 

“Training, Catherine. I’d like to see what you can do.”

“Of course.” 

-

WIth Thunderbrand by her side, many things were automatic for Catherine. A considerable amount of the battles she undertook were simple questions of maneuvering well enough to avoid a strike at the back, carving through enemy flanks head-on in the sort of bull-strong, Faerghian tradition which had been long-instilled in her. 

That was why, in training, it was always for the best that the most long-term of her partners took to rest. To be with a regular weapon was the only way to improve form- a relic may be strong, excessively so, but a lack of practice could be disastrous. Still, in these days of war, Catherine knew she had been relying very heavily on her most assured tools of victory, if for no other reason than the confidence they instilled in her to keep going forth in the face of uncertainty. 

None of this had made it part of her plan to get pinned by Manuela, blade to the more flexible plating surrounding her stomach, tensed-muscle arm against her throat. 

“You opened yourself up there,” she’d said, taking the sort of aggravatingly observational tone which Catherine wasn’t sure whether she admired or balked at, “to your side.”

Still, Catherine was determined to keep her cool. “Guess I did. You were lucky to catch me out there, though.”

“I agree. I’d hardly expect you to falter in swordplay. Certainly, not against me.” A little smirk spread across Manuela’s face, the corners of her mouth twitching. Thinking to herself, Catherine noted how akin it was to a cat with a bird in its grasp, batting curious at its body to check whether it still twitched. 

Even if it would only get her struck again, Catherine resolved to twitch. 

“Explain what gave you the upper hand, Manuela.” 

“I suppose it’s a healer’s trick, really. I’ve seen many come to the infirmary- deceased, as often as alive- with the sort of injuries you might have right now. If I was really going to move against you.” The twitching ceased, replaced with a distinct expression of satisfaction. “I suppose it’s good fortune that we’ve come to like each other, hm?”

Catherine was barely paying attention to her own body, fixed on how Manuela kept her position firm against her- a stage-presence constitution, she was sure. Still, in the back of her mind, it was undeniable the way her heart began to come faster, heavier, with its beating. 

“I wouldn’t trade it for the world, Manuela. Though, if we’ve established that we’re just play fighting here, it’d be nice if you could move your arm off of my neck.” Catherine hardly spoke with her usual assertiveness; still, it was a distinct request, and Manuela withdrew the sword-trimmed limb from where it had been held down to her side. Unceding to the unspoken, however, her blade remained where it continued to pin Catherine to the wall. 

“Would you prefer me to put you in an arms pin, then?”

“You seem to know a lot about pinning people, Manuela.” Catherine wasn’t entirely sure where the instinct to say that came from, nor was she quite sure where it had gone the moment after she had let the words escape her mouth, for as soon as she registered it there felt to be little potential in preventing a violent blush from embracing her cheeks. 

Still, if Manuela noticed it, she didn’t make it obvious. 

“I’ve learnt the basics of grappling, Catherine. You always have to invest a certain amount in your safety if you’re going to be in the public eye, you know.”

It was like that, too, if you lived in the shadows, Catherine contemplated. 

“There would have been no greater pleasure for me than to act as your bodyguard.”

“So I could miss out on beating you, Catherine? Hardly.” Manuela drew ever-so-slightly closer to Catherine, to the point where she expected her to initiate another pin- only for them to stand chest-to-chest, at so little distance that Catherine could barely differentiate their breathing. 

“But you drive a difficult bargain. Your companionship, after all, is unexpectedly enjoyable. Indeed, you might be the most excellent knight I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.”

The hand of Manuela’s not currently pressed to the flat plane of Catherine’s stomach came to hover over her hand, brushing it gently with chipped-paint nails. 

“I’d be honoured to arrange a further encounter, should it be agreeable.” 

Catherine blinked, tried to compose herself as best as she could. 

“This time, Friday, training grounds?”

Manuela’s eyes darted around the room, goading Catherine into matching the direction of her vision. 

“It’s rather tepid in here, don’t you think?” 

It was, Catherine agreed. Regardless of her emotional attachment to the grounds, she could not deny that they lacked the rather powerful charm she had grown to associate with Manuela. Torn, sandy dirt and the stench of steel did not a romantic environment make, at least not to most. 

_ Romantic? _

“My, Catherine, you’re looking quite far away all of a sudden. I might be the best person to be around if you need the infirmary, but-”

“Your room.”

“What about it?”

Catherine took a deep, shuddering breath. “I’ll meet you there. On Friday. Y-you’re right about the grounds, they’re not- not great socializing spaces. Better for swords.” 

“Oh. Of course. And you know, I think there’s much more to you than your swords.” 

“...Thank you.” Catherine knew her breath was going haywire, alongside her heart, and was this time certain that Manuela knew, what with how close they were pressed; still, it was amongst her charms that she seemed never to betray what it was quite evident she had figured out. Not without good reason. 

“So it’s a date, then?” 

“...Indeed.”

“I look forward to it, Catherine. Though, I suppose I should release you, otherwise you’ll hardly be able to make it.” 

With that, Manuela pulled her body back, releasing Catherine from her taut hold, from her proximity. The sudden exposure to the cold of the grounds felt rather jarring to her, almost inescapably so.

It was like touching Thunderbrand for the first time- the beginning of a craving, all attention diverted towards what was exciting and new. 

“See you then.” 

-

Catherine, if she was sure of nothing else, considered herself one thing- a knight of her word. The vows she had made were the vows she would keep, and from them there would be no loose-ends left hanging or obligations ducked out of. Such commitment necessitated the doing of the undesirable; the wrangling of and with everything between the disreputable and the truly abhorrent. It was not supposed to be pleasant; to act with faith was its own reward. 

Still, then, it was undeniably enjoyable to find at least something which came with its own boons. Catherine had made a promise to Manuela; had sworn on her heart to keep it, would not let her down. Certainly not in the face of those who had disrespected her before. 

That all was true, and certainly factored into why she was trawling the halls of the staff quarters after dark, watching for the room on which a single burgundy sock was drawn over the doorknob. But it was not sole amongst her motivations, even if the other factors were implacable- if she were frank with herself, Catherine was quite sure she would have followed this path regardless, reasonless and without promise. 

To find a distinct object amongst the hallways of the quarters was at once a remarkably easy task, and one which bore significant complications. Much of the area blended into itself, and had remained relatively untouched during the various trials Garreg Mach had endured over the years; anything out of place could, if it wanted to, stick out like a sore thumb. Yet there was something mind-numbing about wandering the place; in a way that made Catherine crave the knight’s accommodations more than she’d ever done outside of field-camping and after a few pint-glasses worth of ale. It felt almost sinister- how the staff, almost universally less rowdy than the knights, left so little physical mark on the area. Still, Catherine had handled much in her life, considered herself to be mostly proficient in locating changes in the landscape, and upon sighting the wine-red dot from the corner of her eye, dashed right towards it. Hoping that the speed and sound of her pacing had not pre-alerted Manuela to her presence, she turned the knob, feeling the heavy wooden door creak and shift under her tensed fingers. 

It was unlocked, and the scent of masking perfume seeped through even the slightest crack; Catherine was quite sure she had come to the right place. Still, she was careful to speak Manuela’s name out loud before she entered. Such was chivalric practice, of course.

“Manuela?” There was no need for her surname- if Garreg Mach had been an exclusive affair prior to everything, then there was little room for mistakes in identity now. 

“Come in, Catherine.”

Comforted by Manuela’s recognition of her presence, Catherine pushed the door further inwards. She followed its path herself, feeling the press of the soft carpet underneath her walking shoes; without pause, she slipped them off and left them to rest where Manuela’s slippers resided at current. Taking a glance around, Catherine found the evidence of a remarkably recent clean-up to be distinct; a full trash bin rested against the leg of a low table, the whole room smelled of burning candle-wick, and it was evident on the carpet where imprints were left by now-removed objects. Still, it was hardly as if she could judge; it was only through her own experience that these things stood out at all. 

It did, however, take her a little longer to catch sight of Manuela. For Manuela was almost behind her, donning her more casual clothes, splayed out across a chaise lounge, only catching Catherine’s attention with a whistle after a few empty seconds of examining the space before her for any signs of Manuela’s presence. 

“It’s lovely to see you, Catherine.” Her voice was softer, now, imbued with the tender intimacy of weaponless private space. Catherine turned towards it with precision, akin to a hunter listening for birdsong. And in doing that, she caught sight of Manuela. 

The lounge on which she laid was upholstered, Adrestian-style, a mottled and velveteen cherry-red; with the rest of its body consisting of night-dark wood and sweeping metallic accents. Her eyes caught on the way the upwards curve of the backrest accentuated Manuela’s hips, Catherine found it hard to deny that there was something rather sensuous about the entire encounter. It was akin to sneaking food, or drinking liquor on duty; a temptation which invited itself simply by existing. After all, it had never been clarified why they were to meet- only that they were to do so. And Manuela- while it was true that she wore nothing that Catherine had not seen before in entirely innocuous context, there was something about her- the way her freshly-washed and treated hair rested so gently on the pillow, perhaps, or how her dress rode up to expose a secretive part of her upper thigh- which was distinct. Which invited something new to the encounter. 

Moreover, Catherine bore the suspicion that the entire affair was intentional, at least on Manuela’s part. And that was perhaps the most dangerous aspect of the entire thing- should she meet the situation with enthusiasm, it could be unwarranted, but hesitation could provide an equal downfall. For even with Manuela as she was now, Catherine remembered quite firmly her assertion, or at the very least her implication, of a sexuality within which Catherine was not included.

It was all very confusing, as many things were. As she was wont to do in the face of confusion, Catherine resigned herself to entering the entire affair headstrong. 

“Manuela.” Catherine began, breath still stuck somewhere in her throat. “Thank you for inviting me to your room. It’s looking nice.” 

“Thank you. I assume you’re the type to keep a rather rigid standard of cleanliness, no?” 

“Hah. Not exactly.” A low chuckle escaped from Catherine’s lungs. “I could tell you cleaned up in here, because my room always looks the same when I have to make room for visitors.” 

“A woman after my own heart, I see.” 

Catherine was not entirely sure how things could be becoming even more confusing- yet they were, still, in a fashion that was seemingly impossible to negotiate with. 

“I try and keep it clean, but… It’s hard not to indulge in a bit of mess sometimes, you know? When you’re always doing stuff for people, going and fighting, and you just come home to yourself… If there was someone around to lecture me, I’d probably do it more.”

“I could say much the same. The problem has gotten better now I don’t have a classroom to clean as well, but- if I’m frank, to think of all that too much simply makes me melancholy.”

“Yeah.” 

A sly smile spread across Manuela’s face, and she shifted up the lounge, carving a space for Catherine to take her own seat. “Sit, if you’d like. I’ve been rather rude, letting you stand like that.”

“Hey, I’m used to marches.” Regardless of her contestations, Catherine still stooped to sit gently on the fine fabric of the decadent piece, tracing her fingers across the embellishments as she did. Tried her best to keep her eyes forward, away from where Manuela’s hitched thighs and draping dress provided what was likely to be a rather provocative view. Basked solely in the light of magical fire burning away in the corner, driving away the darkness inside, Catherine took to shifting her shoulders, driving some of the tension of the day away. Surrounded too by the silence, Manuela came to run a single finger through her own hair, parting it like the ocean. Catherine could not help her eyes from drifting, observing with great curiousity the way in which her well-kempt hair differed so greatly in consistency from her own, rubbed more often with body soap than anything else and subject to the battering winds of the plains whenever she could find an excuse for it. 

The differences in their bodies were never more evident than now, both donning casual clothing, pressed up against each other. Catherine could hardly stop herself from fixating on them- Manuela’s shorter frame, the comparative lack of definition in her muscles, how her eyes flickered to expose sweet, gazing eyes. 

Other things, too, that Catherine felt rather too flustered to entertain without permission. All of which she was very close to, alone, underneath a blanket of silence. 

“Manuela?” Catherine managed to croak out, face flushed. “Did you have anything planned for tonight?” 

“I wished to see you.” A second of hesitation passed, during which an expression of thought passed across Manuela’s face. “I suppose I didn’t think too much about it past that.”

Catherine- well, she was hesitant to call the statement dishonest, but something in Manuela’s eyes, the way they drifted up to the ceiling and hovered there, indicated something less than complete transparency. 

“If you wish to train, we could depart for the grounds.”

Manuela shook her head. “I’d like to spend a more peaceful night with you. Besides, I’m underdressed.” 

To Catherine, that fact barely needed repeating. “That’s fair.” 

Another silence of a minute or so passed between the two, before Manuela dropped her gaze down once more to where Catherine sat. 

  
“I do have a question for you, if you’d be okay to answer it.”

“Hit me.” 

“The first time we really interacted, you mentioned that you had lacked an interest in men.” 

Catherine nodded.

“You preferred women.” A quick, shallow breath. “How did you know?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I do know that it’s true. But I don’t know how I figured it out. It’s just- women are attractive. Just- how women look, they look good to me. And it doesn’t work that way for men.” 

“Mhm. Do you have a favourite part?”

“A part?”

“Of a woman. The most attractive element.” Manuela took a quick, mirthful pause. “I’ve always been attracted to muscles, and a certain level of put-togetherness. But those are hardly exclusive to men, of course.” 

Catherine, in her heart of hearts, wondered if she was dreaming. 

“I like breasts,” she spluttered out, “and thighs. Uh, large ones- smooth. Stuff with presence, you know? Things I could really enjoy touching.” To share such information- it felt wholly indecent, but was entertaining regardless, bound as it was in lustfulness and physicality. It was hard to not spill secrets to Manuela- Catherine had noted that before, and little had changed. 

“The more feminine parts of a woman, then.” 

“Maybe. It’s hard to explain, honestly.” Catherine propped her arm on her legs, and rested her head on the curl of her fist. 

“I can’t say that I share that with you- not necessarily. But, Catherine.”

“Yes?” 

“I hope you understand that this is an invitation, rather than a request. I’m going to be quite forward here, and I hope you won’t feel I’m acting up.” 

And there it was. 

“But I will admit, I’ve come to find you a rather interesting figure over the past few weeks. I feel as if you’re quite what I’d take interest in, if you were a man. But with everything we’ve discussed- well, I’m beginning to question the necessity of that part.”

“...You’re attracted to me?”

Manuela nodded, concerted. “You’re very honourable. You’ve taken good care of me, and you’re a formidable opponent. We have things in common, and your body type is- well, I can’t say it’s not a rather impressive feat. I’d love to see you demonstrate something with those muscles sometime.”

“Ah- Manuela.” It was hard for Catherine to say anything which would conflict Manuela’s assessment of her, and in much the same fashion it was hard to refute a growing attraction within her, one which had excited an untended-to desire to touch and be touched in return. Even then, it was hard to contemplate something which would progress from there, and Catherine retreated into her mind once more.

Did she want this? It was hard to say no- this was an open invitation, for Catherine to exercise her own desire and for them both to get their fill. Manuela could guide her- it had been so easy to express her thoughts and her feelings to her beforehand, and she saw no reason for that to change. 

More to the point, Manuela was beautiful. Lying prone as she was, aside from where the backrest of the chaise lounge supported her shoulders, thighs parted alluringly- temptingly. Nothing but simple straps holding up the taut fabric of her dress, concealing her chest and all the soft, tender skin underneath. 

What Catherine would do for it- it was all positively _ lustful _ . 

“Are we going to touch each other?”

“If you’d like that, my dear Catherine.” 

_ My dear. _

The words, the endearing warmth of Manuela’s voice- they rang in Catherine’s head like bells, reverberating with a strength almost enough to drown out all other thoughts. Still, the coherent parts of herself Catherine could piece together, as if they were sheep being herded into a corral; they kept her body still, without compromise to the passionate parts of her mind which were slowly coming into bloom. 

“Yeah. W-where should I start…?”

Silent, Manuela slid one of her fingers underneath the right strap of her dress, lifting it away slightly from her skin. In its exposure of the gentle flesh underneath, Catherine’s eyes widened, and she brought her hand forward on instinct before hesitating it briefly in front of Manuela’s chest.

“Looks good.” Catherine was painfully aware of how awkward she must sound, how her body was on the verge of shaking- still, she moved forward to imitate the movement on Manuela’s other shoulder, bringing the strap down to the upper part of her arm. Its gentle flutter against Manuela’s frame, half-toned and half-soft, excited Catherine further, and she shifted onto her thighs and towards Manuela for a better vantage point. From there, she teased the fabric which cupped her chest further downwards, exposing first the nape of her breasts, pausing when the darkened flesh of her nipples became first evident.

“Want me to go further, Manuela?” 

“Of course, Catherine. You’re certainly very engaged with this.”

Blinking in embarrassment, but nevertheless continuing with her task, Catherine pushed the soft fabric further down Manuela’s chest. Admiring its full exposure, Catherine sucked a deep breath into her lungs, and exhaled with a tremble. 

“Fuck, you’re- you look good. Shit.” 

“So charming, Catherine. I hope you’re enjoying this, even though I think I have a fair estimation from that look on your face.” Manuela lifted her hand from where it had been resting by her side to Catherine’s lips, caressed her face, brushed a strand of hair from where it had been caught by an eyelash so small as to be imperceptible. At the ghostlike touch, Catherine let out another deep exhale. 

“It’s good. Real good, Manuela. Can I do anything else for you?” 

At hearing that, Manuela raised her other hand and rested it on her lips, contemplative. And only after a rather exhilarated flash of emotion passed over her eyes did she say anything to Catherine, still arching, expectant, over her half-exposed body. 

“If you’d be okay with that, I’d certainly be flattered by you disrobing slightly.” 

Without hesitating, or signifying anything, Catherine grabbed at the tight white fabric of her shirt and began to tug it away from her skin, exposing more of her skin each second until the enter shirt was doffed, leaving only the barest and most rigid of underclothing concealing her breasts. Manuela, in time with her movements, lifted her finger away from her mouth and brought it gently to Catherine’s muscles, pulled taut by her grip on Manuela’s abdomen. 

“My, you’re strong.” Manuela’s fingertips skirted the outlines of muscle along Catherine’s arm, carefully, responsive to the shifting flesh beneath. At the gentle- almost loving- sensation of touch, Catherine shuddered, a jolt of pleasure running through her body, almost intense enough to knock her backwards. “Handsome, Catherine.”

A gasp, almost a whimper, escaped Catherine’s mouth, accompanying a growing wetness between her thighs. Still, focused as she was on Manuela’s body lying beneath her, Catherine lifted her untouched arm from where it held her side and up towards her breasts, settling on the pale, tender skin of the right. Began to rub it gently, exploring its surface, whispering little murmurs of affection under her breath as Manuela continued to trace her fingers along her arm. Focused on the growing, pleasured smile on Manuela’s face, each warm breath hitting the air with an audible gasp, she only withdrew when Manuela pulled back from her own affectations. 

“Catherine.” Though Manuela’s authoritative voice was dogged somewhat by her evident arousal, it was nonetheless evident to Catherine that she was being given some instruction. “You’re lingering around the breasts.”

“Yeah.” Catherine wasn’t really sure what else to say, aside from the truth. “I just like ‘em.”

“You’re very sweet. But, well- you probably know that the nipple is the most sensitive part. So if you want to-”

Swiftly, Catherine drew her hand back to Manuela’s breast, dragging her calloused fingertip down the peak of her darker flesh as she did, eliciting a further moan on Manuela’s part and a rather wicked spurt of energy inside Catherine. With no further hesitation, Catherine repeated the movement, messier and less precise but with more force, more confidence. 

“Good, huh?” 

It caught Catherine’s eyes then that Manuela had bitten her bottom lip- was still biting it- and that she was nodding in response to Catherine’s inquiry. So Catherine lowered her other arm in turn, and brought it to Manuela’s other breast, and began to lathe over each nipple with gentle, careful movements of her fingers. 

“Sorry I kept you waiting, Manuela.” Another long, drawn-out rub, another heated moan from Manuela, Catherine’s grin growing in confidence each time her results were achieved. “I got caught up in how pretty you are. Goddess, do you know how pretty you are?”

“I d-don’t think I’ll ever tire of hearing you say I am, dear Catherine.”

Another jagged, downwards rub of strong fingers over Manuela’s breasts, almost in tandem. Another moan, thorough and primal. The wetness between Catherine’s thighs growing again, so close to Manuela’s thighs, almost enough for her to just- grind- get rid of the frustration somehow, in any way possible- 

“Let me remove your bra, Catherine.” 

To hear it- it was almost too much, and it became an immediate labour for Catherine to not gasp at the sheer mention of such a thing, such an attention devoted to her. Still, she ducked her head down, obedient, and allowed Manuela to reach behind at the fastenings, unhooking them with evident practice. As it came loose, falling down onto Manuela’s chest and being quickly shifted down onto the floor to be forgotten about until morning, Manuela took her chance to rake her hands through Catherine’s hair, as unruly as it was. Even tugged, experimentally, at some strands, and felt Catherine exhale with vigor at each ministration.

“You’re doing excellent, Catherine. You’re welcome to remove whatever of mine you’d like- you’ve earned it.” Manuela spoke, punctuating her last words with a wink. Resisting the urge to wrap an arm around her now-exposed breasts, and being rewarded for her patience with fond, sensitive touches to the chest by Manuela, Catherine began once more to take hold of the fabric which still covered part of Manuela’s body. Still, at the cusp of her thighs, she paused again, and looked into Manuela’s eyes for approval. 

Manuela, true to her nature, winked once more. “Keep going, Catherine.” 

And so she did, lowering it to the point where it caught only briefly on Manuela’s ankles before slipping off entirely, leaving her exposed entirely- save for the brief, revealing panties Manuela donned, a similar burgundy red to the chaise lounge. Drawing back slightly more for easier access, propping herself up between Manuela’s thighs, Catherine made an experimental motion towards the tiniest part of exposed sensitivity between her thighs and underneath her “underwear”. In return, Manuela laid back, a satisfied moan reverberating from her lungs and into the silence only otherwise penetrated by the gathering slick between Manuela’s thighs and its collection on Catherine’s fingers. 

“I can tell you’ve touched yourself before, Catherine.” Manuela stated, with a confidence akin to that of stating a known fact. “When you do that, what feels good to you?” 

Catherine, once more, was sure she was beet-red. “Rubbing my clit. I tend to go pretty rough. I-it just feels good.” She mumbled, stuttering the last few words out as Manuela bucked her hips upwards, bringing her clit closer to Catherine’s fingers and Catherine’s fingers deeper inside of her, eliciting a deeper moan. 

“Show me that, Catherine. Strong, so handsome.” 

With renewed vigor, not to mention great excitement, Catherine did so, allowing Manuela to move around her fingers as she explored her sex, tracing each detail in time with flushed little gasps and the desperate, wanton need to feel pressure against her own clit, to rub against something rigid and to finish. Still, at the cusp of orgasm, Manuela drew back down and looked Catherine in the eye.

“You’d like to be touched as well, hm?” 

At hearing that, Catherine could do little to stop her hips snapping forward, jagged and aroused. A rigid groan escaped her throat as they did, coupled with a shaky nod of the head. In much the same fashion that Catherine had removed her clothes, Manuela hitched her fingers into the waistband of Catherine’s trousers and slipped them downwards, the waist gliding gently over her strong, arching hips to reveal army-standard underwear underneath. With Manuela’s hands in such close proximity, it felt once more a labour of love to avoid thrusting down onto her fingers, but Catherine allowed her to tease, to trace the waistband of her underwear with tender and exploratory touch.

“You know, back in the opera, I heard a rumour.” The words slipped out of Manuela’s mouth as if everything was normal- as if she wasn’t underneath a woman, underwear ajar and soaked through with slick. “That people with crests have their marks emblazoned just under their stomachs. Do you mind if I investigate?”

Catherine whined, desperate, only ceasing when Manuela was able to rid her sex and her thighs from their coverings, splaying her fingers all across her lower abdomen. Finding no mark, nothing akin to the old stories.

“I suppose it’s just a rumour. Still, with everything- you look like you’re aching for my touch, Catherine.” 

Another ragged gasp worked its way out of Catherine’s throat. Still, Manuela moved her fingers no further, hovering them ever so briefly out of reach. 

“Let’s go together, Catherine.”

And so they did, Catherine slipping her fingers between Manuela’s thighs once again, rubbing thorough and strong against the tender nub of flesh, a great sensation of thrill building up with each pleased response Manuela gave to her touch. In tandem, Manuela returned her fingers to where Catherine had removed her underwear, slipping her forefingers inside and rubbing the roughness of her knuckle against Catherine’s clit. 

Together, in body, in spirit- in orgasm, with Catherine spilling over the edge without needing any further encouragement, the shaking slackness of her fingers triggering a similar sensation throughout Manuela’s body. It left them both panting roughly and emptied of burning passion, pressed against the fabric and flesh beneath them.

Only when Manuela withdrew her fingers fully from Catherine did she sink fully back down onto the cradling comfort of the chaise lounge, all of a sudden much more welcoming than it had been with its caressing of the pleasant, waning ache which ran through her thighs. 

“M-Manuela. That was- that was something else. F-fuck.”

At hearing that, Manuela let out a pleased sigh. “I’m glad, Catherine. I’ll say that I was a little worried, since I know more than anything how to take care of myself- at least in that sense.”

“Me too. I’m glad I got to do this with you, Manuela.”

“Mhm.”

“But what does this… make us?” 

“Hm.” Manuela’s voice filled with consideration. “We don’t have to say anything right now- I’m quite tired, to be honest.” 

In sympathy, Catherine rolled her shoulders, freeing some of the tension built inside them. “Me too.”

“But- Catherine.”

“Yes.”

Manuela took a deep breath, then a pause. “Without worrying about what we are to each other, would you perhaps wish to spend the night by my side?”

“‘Course, Manuela. I wouldn’t dream of anything else.”

And true to her word, that night Catherine dreamed of Manuela- the woman she held by her side, in her arms, until the sun rose again in the morning. 

**Author's Note:**

> you have successfully indulged this crackship
> 
> i just want hot women to fuck and i'll make it happen if i must
> 
> find me at twitter @meowcosm- if you enjoyed this fic, a retweet of its post on twitter is really helpful! and comments/kudos are hugely appreciated too.
> 
> thank you!


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